9 Crimes
by Mindy35
Summary: Their crimes are numerous, too numerous to count. But nine in particular stand out. An AU in which Olivia is newly married with kids and Elliot is a pining singleton. The sequel to "Cheers Darlin'" and the second installment in my Rice Trilogy. This story is continued in "My Favorite Faded Fantasy", the final installment in this angsty trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

Title: 9 Crimes

Author: mindy35

Rating: M, further adult stuff

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC et al. Lyrics are property of Damien Rice and are used without permission. No infringement intended or money made.

Spoilers: Nope

Pairings: Elliot/Olivia, Olivia/Other, Elliot/Other.

Summary: Their crimes are numerous, too numerous to count. But nine in particular stand out. Sequel to "Cheers Darlin'", a Damien Rice inspired AU in which Olivia is married with kids and Elliot is a pining singleton (but we all know who they belong with).

A/N: If you haven't read "Cheers Darlin'", this will probably not make a great deal of sense, so maybe go read that one first. If you already have, welcome back to my angsty alternate universe, I hope the wait proves worth it. This first chapter is pretty long and includes a lot of exposition. I considered posting it in two halves but I know everyone has been waiting to hear from Olivia so here is her POV, intact and in full. Please read forth and please feed the box…

* * *

 **i.**

 _Leave me out with the waste  
This is not what I do  
It's the wrong kind of place  
To be thinking of you  
It's the wrong time  
For somebody new  
It's a small crime  
And I've got no excuse…_

Her crimes are numerous. Too numerous to count. But four in particular stand out to her.

The first hides in the past, buried in an alcoholic haze, in the last time she felt that languid, infinitely emboldening sensation. As such, she cannot trust her own memory. Her recollections, the residual sensations of that night are both blurry and unbearably clear, both sharply focused and faintly shadowed, both jumbled up and perfectly preserved. Without the alcohol to spur her on, to heighten her nerve, it's unlikely she'd have had the sudden and strange inspiration, the unmitigated gall to press herself back into her partner's body. To utter brutally crushed and crude words that had seemed so true, so irrepressible for such a long time.

She'd resisted such an impulse for two years. Ever since stretching out her hand and feeling it slide along his, feeling a volt of electricity shock her palm, stirring skin that hadn't known the touch of another man in years. He was the new recruit from the Bronx, Rebecca's replacement. She hadn't wanted a new partner, had told Cragen as much. She'd asked to be partnered with Munch or Jeffries but what she really wanted was her old friend back at her side, bolstering her backbone with their familiar rapport. She certainly didn't want to waste precious time and energy training up the newbie, giving some macho military type a crash course in sensitivity that he would no doubt ignore. He had that military look, that arrogant cop stance – two attributes that normally she found distinctly unattractive. It made working with cops simple, easy, safe. But that easy safety vanished as soon as Elliot Stabler walked into her life. As soon as his palm electrified hers back to life, reminding her of what desire felt like, of what temptation looked like, of the heat and thrill of unexpected attraction.

At first, Olivia put it down to a belated version of the seven-year itch. She'd been with Graham since she was eighteen years old. When they met, she was working for minimum wage at the fish market, occasionally short changing customers so she could eat or score. He pretty much picked her up off the street and gave her everything she now had. She'd moved straight out of the group home and into his apartment. At the time, she couldn't believe her own luck. She couldn't believe his Egyptian cotton sheets, his cabinets full of food, his extensive CD collection. She couldn't believe his full gym membership and elegant business lunches and casual suggestions of weekend trips to the Berkshires. She couldn't believe his beautiful brown eyes and floppy, blond hair and lean, lanky body. She couldn't believe how he smelled and dressed and treated her. Most of all, she couldn't believe he was all hers, that at last she owned someone and someone owned her. She belonged somewhere. She'd finally found a home.

It didn't feel quite hers, not at first. That swanky apartment in Chelsea always felt like Graham's place, never her own. It wasn't until they moved to Brooklyn and she began to decorate the brownstone with her own money, in her own style that she even realized she had a style, she had preferences. And that they differed widely from her boyfriend's. But by then Graham had become more than her boyfriend. He'd encouraged her to attain her high school diploma then to apply to the Academy, he'd supported her financially and emotionally during her education and training. He'd been her cheerleader and champion as she found her feet in the world. And in return, she strove to prove herself to him, to demonstrate that she was more than a teenage screw-up with blue hair, ripped jeans, a bad attitude and an incomplete education. Part of her, a more furtive part, also longed to prove herself to the ghost of her mother. To refute that letter of abandonment that Serena left her with. To justify her own existence – an existence that had grown too painful for her mother to endure.

Those early days were good but it was no real surprise that they didn't last – they never did. She was young, Graham much older. They came from very different backgrounds and, once Olivia found her world and her place in it, she wasn't as eager to please him or rely on him. As a lawyer and a cop, they worked in similar veins but their philosophies and approaches were increasingly at odds, often causing tension and division. As each of them climbed further up the professional ladder, their paths diverged more and more, drawing them progressively apart. Graham attempted to remedy this distance and division with romantic dinners and expensive gifts and promised holidays that never eventuated. Olivia often yawned her way through the dinners after working a long, chaotic day. She could never wear his gifts of jewellery or perfume or couture to work. And she never liked taking time off, so she just nodded and said _someday_ whenever he suggested Hawaii or Canada or Europe.

At eighteen, she'd thought she'd found the love of her life. It wasn't until much later that she discovered the truth. The love of her life was a job, a unit, an unending mission. It was an overflowing inbox, a wooden desk with one wobbly leg, a locker with her name printed on it in tape. It was a badge with four digits that gave her the power to help, the ability to lift others out of the gutter where her life had begun and a hard-won understanding her mother's life, trauma and death. SVU was her calling, her passion, the obsession that sucked up all her time and energy, leaving little for the man waiting at home in bed with his glasses on, his computer in his lap and his smile ready for whenever she happened to walk through the bedroom door. Into this came Elliot Stabler. With his fiercely trained body and military haircut, his cheap suits and underhand quips, his world weary arrogance and raw sexual magnetism. He was just like all the other cops – and he was not. He was a surprise when she'd just about given up on surprises. She hadn't wanted another partner – but that's exactly what she got.

It worked immediately. They clicked. They walked at the same pace, liked the same coffee shops, hated the same cuisine, got impatient with the same level of obstruction. Their sleep schedules lined up, their questions followed on from one another's and they took roughly the same amount of time to fill out their 5s. More importantly, their philosophies proved compatible, even when they clashed. Olivia found his name rolling off her tongue with ease within days. But she also found herself avoiding his name at home, referring to _my partner_ only occasionally and often falteringly. The tension came from her – she was sure of it. After all, her new partner seemed quite content with his revolving door of a sex life. So Olivia quietly and methodically went about the business of denying and suppressing her unwanted desires. That lasted two years. Then she got drunk and threw herself at her partner, begged him to fuck her. She has to close her eyes in humiliation, lift a hand to her brow if she ever thinks about it now. Mostly, she avoids thinking about it.

The only upside of that awful night is that she hasn't touched a drop of alcohol since. And that it didn't ruin their partnership. She didn't know it then – two years of silent lust and suppressed longing seemed like a lifetime to her – but their partnership was in its infancy and would become the defining relationship of her life. One of them. She never again wants to mar it or experience the excruciating shame and remorse she felt the following morning and for weeks afterwards. She's eternally grateful to her partner for having the good grace to never mention her blatant come-on, their curtailed encounter, her disgraceful exit or subsequent avoidance of the topic. She hopes he just blames it on the alcohol. And that her commitment to her sobriety sufficiently communicates her contrition.

Of course, it's entirely possible that Elliot, with his many, casual affairs, did not view the encounter as seriously as she did. It's possible that while he was transgressing one simple boundary, she was transgressing many more important limits, all of which kept her life in place. It's possible that while she deeply regretted perverting his comfort and support into something it wasn't, he simply considered their partial-sex a small slip, an exhaustion fuelled mistake that was terminated in time and wouldn't ever recur. It's also very possible that it's not to him she owes the bulk of her contrition. She never told Graham of her drunken seduction of her partner. Even after he proposed to her, she never admitted that she all but demanded Elliot screw her, that she guided his hands to where she'd always wanted them. That she was thrilled beyond belief, her body hot and eager and wanting more and more and more and more when his body finally breached hers.

Olivia never breathed a word. She silenced her son, lied to her husband by purposeful, prolonged omission and defiled her relationship with her partner. Herein lies her first and perhaps biggest crime.

 **-x-**

Her second crime is less obvious. A crime of thought not of action.

It's not that she didn't want to marry Graham or didn't love him. Standing at that altar, hands held in front of the priest, surrounded by their family and friends, their kids grinning and looking on, Olivia felt overwhelmed by love. She adored Graham in a way her eighteen year old self could never understand. He had given her three beautiful children who she'd never, ever regret. Not with a single fiber of her being. She knew how it felt to be regretted by a mother and she could never inflict such pain and shame on her own offspring, the beloved beings she'd carried in her belly. She wanted them to have everything she lacked. Stability. Love. Fun. A childhood watched over by a faithful father and mother. She was absolutely certain she was doing the right thing. By accepting Graham's proposal, by putting on that white dress, by repeating her vows – she only became surer.

…And yet…

One small, quiet part of her was simply aware that standing to her right was another man. A man who knew things about her that no one else did, not even her intended. A man who drove her crazy and calmed her down. A man who made her heart thump by handing her a coffee cup. A man who not only understood her passion but shared it every day. A man who knew the woman she'd gradually grown into. Standing at the altar, his presence made the hairs at the back of her neck tingle, it made the skin on her lower back shiver. She expected any minute to be called a fraud, to be denounced in front of the entire congregation as not deserving all she'd been given. She looked up at the looming crucifix and felt, for the first time in a long while, like she didn't belong where she stood. That she was standing in someone else's rightful place. Her cheeks heated in anticipation, in disgrace. Her sweaty hands gripped Graham's. But her denouncement never arrived.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, just as rehearsed. No one saw the invisible thread that stretched between her and her partner, binding them together for life and mocking any other commitment she might make. She didn't know how anyone could miss it – particularly when they were standing up there in front of everyone, in the light of Graham's intermittently loved Lord. But they did. The invisible remained invisible. What was secret remained concealed. And she became a married woman while thinking of another man.

As soon as she stepped away from Elliot, her guilt eased, her spine relaxed, her blood began to pump more normally. Her thoughts at the altar seemed ridiculous, the result of panic and nothing more. They seemed especially ridiculous when she observed Elliot return to the wedding reception with his mussed and flushed date, clearly post-tryst. Over the years, Olivia had trained herself not to notice such things, to ignore the pang in her gut and the guilt that followed it. She understood that her partner was a very sexual man. Elliot exuded a barely contained erotic energy that was difficult for any woman to ignore. She herself fell victim to it with that first innocuous handshake. And whilst in his orbit, it felt incredible – emboldening, thrilling, disorienting. Whilst in his orbit, she felt like the only woman in the world, the only woman in _his_ world. But Olivia only needed to take a step back to know how untrue, how misguided that sensation was. Elliot Stabler didn't subscribe to just one woman. Elliot Stabler had many women. She was the only exception. She seemed to be and wanted to remain the one woman in his life who wasn't disposable.

So Olivia maintained her distance and maintained her perspective. From a safe distance away, she could see that Elliot was devoted to her. He respected her, valued their friendship and partnership. They cared about each other deeply. But the relationship – despite their mistaken foray into such territory – was meant to be neither sexual nor romantic. For the good of their work, that was best left separate. For Elliot, that meant Laurel and Georgia and Megan and Cynthia and Sara and Cathie and even an honest-to-God Brittany. For Olivia, that meant Graham. It meant marriage and children and a home. All precious things she didn't want to lose sight of. All precious things that – as a loveless, family-less child – she never thought she'd possess.

 **-x-**

Her third crime occurs in the hushed limbo of a hotel hallway.

She's closing the door, heading out to meet Graham and his extended family at a Praguian café when a familiar figure comes striding towards her. She can't completely make him out, the lighting is so dim, but his silhouette is enough to distinguish him. He seems to be wearing the same black suit he wore for the wedding, as if he's followed her straight from the reception to her hotel, without changing, without stopping, without even sleeping. Marching at her, he looks incongruous – his rough-hewn body, so indigenous to the New York landscape appears larger and darker within the delicate confines of the hotel hallway. But despite this – the incongruity of his arrival, his dress and form – something instinctive in her is happy, relieved to see him. She feels instantly grounded, at home in his presence.

This changes as soon as the shadows unmask her partner's ferocious expression. Without preamble, he tells her he needs to talk to her and launches into some preconceived conversation of his own design. At first, she's playing catch-up. At first, she thinks something terrible has happened, her mind beginning to scan for possibilities. But Elliot is rambling about Dani and Dani's cousin, about Graham and some blonde. Olivia shakes her head, tells him she's expected downstairs – Graham will be waiting for her in the lobby. Her partner drops his Air Force tote to the floor, grabs her elbow.

"Do you _understand_ what I'm telling you?" he puffs, face creased with outrage. " _Graham_ – he _cheated_ on you. With _her_ —"

Olivia frowns at him. Now she's caught up. "I know."

"He's been cheating on you for years, Liv—"

" _I know_."

Her aim is to shock him, stall him, make him let go. It works. Her lie – a tiny but necessary crime – causes her partner to blink at her like he doesn't know who she is. She hates it. She can't look at him if he's looking at her like that. So she doesn't.

He releases her elbow, takes a step backwards, eyes narrowing at her in indignant disbelief. "You _know_? How can you know? How could you—"

"How big an idiot do you think I am?"

She steels her gaze at the carpet then lifts it to his. She's more than a little offended that he could think her that clueless. She's a detective for Chrissakes, just like him. Does he honestly think she'd have that big a blind spot? Does he honestly think she needs him to fly across the globe and tell her something she figured out years before? Something that is _none_ of _his_ goddamn business? Okay, so she hadn't known about that particular blonde, that was an out-and-out lie. Graham hadn't told her about that indiscretion despite his many, seemingly sincere promises to be absolutely upfront.

Honesty's the prevailing policy in their relationship, one recommended by their highly regarded and highly paid therapist. They'd begun couples counseling years before. It was her suggestion and a practice Olivia believed in. In theory. She liked their shrink, responded to her ideas regarding trust and intimacy and long-term goal-setting. But she often found herself avoiding or postponing their sessions. Her schedule – and underlying resistance – kept them from attending regularly. Which probably explained their lack of progress, the continuing distance, his sporadic infidelity. When he proposed, Graham had said that marriage would change him, contain him. It would fix everything. And she'd hoped rather than believed he was right. She'd hoped marriage would offer them a clean slate, a fresh start. An impossible wish now that Elliot Stabler had taken it upon himself to act as her guardian, ousting and condemning the state of her relationship like he was some sort of expert.

He wasn't. And she hadn't confided in him on purpose. For years, she'd told herself it was to preserve the sanctity and privacy of her and Graham's relationship. But standing there under his stare, she knows it was more to preserve her own pride. She didn't want him to know. She didn't want him to even suspect. It was the last thing her devastated soul needed. Because she'd considered leaving, of course she had. And she had left, more than once. After Graham screwed a friend of hers, she kicked him out of the house on the spot. But she always relented, always reconsidered. Their shrink called it forgiveness. Graham called it love. In her heart of hearts, Olivia wondered if she was just too damn scared. Maybe she lacked the guts to go it alone after so many years. Maybe she wasn't the best possible mother, the mother her kids needed – the brave and autonomous matriarch that Elliot was raised by. Nor was she anything close to the woman her partner saw when he looked at her.

She'd tried – she'd put absolutely everything into her relationship with Graham. Emotionally, intellectually and sexually. But it wasn't enough. She couldn't keep her husband's eyes from wandering, his hands from wanting or his dick in her enthrall. In their sessions with their shrink, Graham would assure her that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. That he still found her desirable, sexy, tempting. Olivia listened and nodded but couldn't help but feel that she had failed at something distinctly and vitally womanly. Over time, Graham's deficiencies had made her feel like less of a woman and more of a failure. And of every man she knew, of every man in the entire world, Elliot Stabler was the one man she didn't want to view her that way. With him, she felt capable, strong, in control. With Elliot, she felt valued. Admired, even. And – just occasionally, just furtively – like a beautiful woman, a sexual being. Not a failure. Not someone to turn away from.

Only now he knew. Now he's looking at her like there's something wrong with her, something missing, something unconscionable. It's the exact expression she'd been hoping to avoid. So before Elliot can turn away from her, Olivia walks away from him. She straightens her spine and tells him to go home. She tells him she and Graham are working things out and he shouldn't have come. She tells him she'll see him in a month. Then she bows her head and strides toward the elevator. It's only as she's walking away, her back to him and tears pricking her eyes, that the thought returns to her.

 _I love him_

The thought isn't specific – it doesn't designate who _him_ is. And arising, so surprising, out of nowhere, out of chaos and distress, she isn't sure how much credence to give it. It feels true. Profoundly, terrifyingly, shockingly true. Just as it did the first time. When she stood in that doorway after her wedding, on the threshold of what she'd hoped would be a new life. She'd faced her partner as a married woman and the thought simply…presented itself, unbidden and unhindered and horrendously inconvenient.

 _I love him_

That was all. Just…

 _I love him_

Simple. Yet so very, very complicated. She'd lingered, looking at him. Then kissed his cheek and left. She'd had to stop midway down the stairs to take a breath and push down the overwhelming torrent of love and regret and panic and confusion and dismay. She'd wanted to deny the notion outright. She'd wanted to believe with everything she had that she'd not just made the biggest mistake of her life by moving towards one man while leaving behind the one who possessed her heart. Tears slipped from her eyes as she descended the stairs. Luckily, Olivia was able to pass these off as the expected emotions of a bride. She gave Sophie, Frankie and Charlie each a kiss, grasped her husband's hand and let the car take her away, those three perilous words still ringing in her head.

 _I love him…I love him…I love him…_

They perform the same ritualistic chant as she boards the elevator in Prague, presses the button and watches the doors slide closed on her stunned and stationary partner. He stands in the middle of the hallway in his wrinkled suit, hands hanging loosely, uselessly at his sides. Olivia punches the button a few more times, removes her gaze from his. The harder she tries to deny them, push them to the back of her mind, the louder those three words get and more real they feel. The only way to escape them seems to be to escape him – but not even this works.

Elliot's in her head now, he's in her blood. He found her in Prague and now she finds him all over Prague. Wherever she turns, he's there. She sees him when she's touring the art galleries and botanical gardens. She thinks of him when she's holding her husband's hand, when he kisses her lips, when they go to bed each night, their backs meeting in the middle of the bed. She thinks of him most when she wakes in the morning, alone in the unfamiliar bed. While Graham rises early to go running, Olivia lies still and splayed on the mattress, her thoughts running relentless rings round each other – and one forever prevailing.

 _…_ _I love him…I love him…_

 _I love him._

 **-x-**

Her fourth crime is perpetrated four days after her partner gate-crashes her honeymoon.

Rising from the empty bed, Olivia massages her stiff neck and releases a long sigh. Her limbs feel lax, weak, strangely exhausted by all the unfamiliar rest. She slops into the ensuite, twists the taps on the shower and pulls her nightshirt up over her head. Her confusion has mellowed in the last few days, her comfortable relationship with her husband reasserting itself and her strained relationship with her partner receding into the background. She assumes he is now back in New York, slouching at his desk, punching up perps and irritating Dani in her absence. She's enjoyed Prague, its beauty and culture. And she's enjoyed meeting Graham's family, from the scarf-addicted Nanas to the ruddy-cheeked babies. She feels accepted by them, enveloped by familial affection. Not that it's stopped that maddening chant from occasionally intervening, often at the most inconvenient of times.

The words are quieter now. Less insistent. Oddly, it only makes their potential more shattering.

They take a rare break from their routine proclamation as she steps under the warm spray, letting it flood her face and hair and roll down the curves and angles of her body. She turns one way then the other, her eyes closed to the soft, soothing hiss. Moments later, Graham interrupts her bliss, pushing through the bathroom door as he peels off his spandex shirt. He takes out his cock, pees in the toilet then climbs in the shower and adjusts the temperature, all the while rhapsodizing about the new running path he just discovered. Olivia steps out of the shower, dabs herself dry with one of the hotel's plush towels then wraps it round her body. She's brushing her hair in the mirror, combing back the wet, dark strands when Graham finishes his shower, steps out and presses his damp, naked body against her back, his erection nudging her butt.

Olivia closes her eyes and follows his lead. She lets him rid her of the towel, lets him explore her body, lets him push Elliot Stabler and those three relentless words out of her head. God, she wants him to – and it almost, almost works. As long as she keeps her eyes closed, it works. But when she opens them, gazing into the mirror and expecting to see Graham's blond hair, Graham's brown eyes, Graham's long face and angular shoulders, she is shocked. She sucks in a breath, her body instantly liquefying at the sight of her partner – his cropped brown hair and intense blue eyes, boring into her, pinning her in place. She sees the well-known planes and muscles of his face – his mouth, his stubble, his brows, his forehead, his _everything_. It's his body behind her, moving with her. It's _Elliot_ inside her and her body just reacts. Her arousal spikes, her heart leaps, her eyes slam shut and she comes hard. Her orgasm is so good it's got to be a crime. She just hopes she doesn't say his name. Or that Graham is too lost in his usual sex haze to notice.

He pumps inside her for a few more minutes, panting rhythmically in her ear. Olivia pulls in a breath as she recovers. She plants her hands on the sink, slowly lifts her head and meets her own eyes in the mirror. Elliot is no longer there with her. He has vanished, just like her pleasure. He's been replaced by Graham, her husband, the man she married despite that little part of her that longed for someone else, someone new, someone taboo. Someone so close that nobody could see – not even her – that she loved him. Loves him. Always has.

The following morning, she asks Graham if they can cut their honeymoon short. A month is too long, she says, she misses the kids. Graham agrees, smiling at her and kissing her and promising that they will make the most of the time they have left. Olivia lies awake that night with one person on her mind, too many thoughts crowding her head and four terrible crimes to regret.

 _ **TBC...**_


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: M, further adult stuff

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC et al. Lyrics are property of Damien Rice and are used without permission. No infringement intended or money made.

Spoilers: Nope

Pairings: Elliot/Olivia, Olivia/Other, Elliot/Other.

Summary: Their crimes are numerous, too numerous to count. But nine in particular stand out. "Cheers Darlin'" sequel.

A/N: So I need to take a little break after this chapter and go write an essay. But I should be back by the end of the week to post the second half of this story. Thanks to all those who read and commented on chapter one.

* * *

 **ii.**

 _Leave me out with the waste  
This is not what I do  
It's the wrong kind of place  
To be cheating on you  
It's the wrong time  
And she's pulling me through  
It's a small crime  
And I've got no excuse…_

His crimes are numerous. Too numerous to count. But four in particular stand out to him.

Topping the list would have to be lusting after his partner – a woman he was supposed to view with professional respect. A woman who'd been his friend, adviser, defender and inspiration. He'd reduced her to a pair of legs. A pair of lips. He'd reduced her to breasts and butt and hair and eyes. Maybe he was in love – maybe it was all she was, within and without, that made him desire her. Or maybe not. Maybe love was just an excuse when there was no real excuse for the crimes he'd committed in her name.

Elliot has plenty of time to contemplate his crimes on the plane back from Prague, hours of uninterrupted time with only his own thoughts for company. His equidistance from his partner in Prague and his life in New York offers an unusual clarity of perception. He mentally retraces all their years of partnership – he recalls meeting Olivia, recalls her introduction of Graham. He recalls her pregnancies, watching her body and face change, alter into those of a mother. He recalls his reprehensible actions in her kitchen that long-ago night and all Olivia has since done to recover from her addiction. He recalls his even more reprehensible conduct at her wedding and the sullen, inattentive attitude with which he greeted her nuptials and performed his duties as her man of honor.

Air hostesses waltz by, offering food and drinks and entertainment. Elliot doesn't acknowledge them. He doesn't eat. He doesn't drink. He simply stares out the window, thinking and breathing and remembering and repenting. By the time the plane lands, he's come to a decision – the only decision he could possibly make. He's going to do his penance and move on. He's going to be the best damn partner Olivia's ever had – assuming she'll still have him. He's going to be her friend, he's going to support her life choices and he's going to get the hell on with making some life choices of his own.

As soon as he arrives home, he calls Dani. He thanks her for backing his play and apologizes for leaving her in the lurch. Dani doesn't ask how it went in Prague. But he hears her smile as she tells him she'll see him in the morning. Next, he calls Cragen to apologize for his unprofessional behavior and abrupt departure. Cragen's response is stern but, since he's already short-staffed with Olivia out for the rest of the month, he grudgingly welcomes Elliot back from his brief but not uncharacteristic foray into insanity. Elliot thanks him then ends the call.

Heading into his bedroom, he begins to unpack, putting to rights the closet he trashed in his rush to depart. As he does, he notices a slip of paper on the wooden floor. He bends to retrieve it, examines it front and back. It takes several moments for him to place the name and number scribbled on the card but he's pretty sure it's from the nurse who looked after him when Olivia was giving birth to Sophie. Elliot glances at his watch, mulls over his options. He's more than two years late in calling so hopefully it won't matter that it's also ten after nine on a weeknight.

Maria answers on the first ring and takes little prompting to remember him. He makes a date with her for the following evening, wishing to maintain the momentum he has established in his do-penance-and-move-on plan. Before he can conclude the call, her voice stops him, thrills him by straightforwardly admitting:

"I'm not looking for anything casual here."

Elliot shakes his head in certainty. "Me neither."

"Okay," she says.

"Okay," he replies.

After calling Maria, he tidies his closet within an inch of its sorry existence. Invigorated by his new approach to his old life, Elliot showers, washing his hair, face and body. Padding into the kitchen in bare feet and pajama pants, he chops up some vegetables and throws them into a stir-fry. He eats it in front of the news then turns in early, determined to rise in the morning and be a good cop for Cragen, a good partner to Dani and a good man to Maria. And hopefully, when Olivia returns, she'll be able to forgive the man, if not the crimes he committed.

 **-x-**

His second crime keeps him awake.

He pondered everything on that plane, went over every last detail of their long association. The one thing he didn't consider was his exchange with Olivia in that dim hotel corridor. He didn't recall her smile on first seeing him, how it melted into confusion as he unleashed his attack. He didn't consider those two quiet words that he never saw coming. Two quiet words that told him she knew all long. She knew. Olivia knew everything and he felt like an idiot. Such an idiot, flying all over the world to— to what exactly? What had he been thinking? What did he honestly expect? Of course she knew. It was her job to know, to deduce, to excavate the worst human secrets on offer.

All their separations make sense to him now, although her silence on them remains a minor mystery. He still thinks Graham is an undeserving scumbag, the worst kind of man who somehow still got the best kind of woman. But Elliot can't fault Olivia's commitment to her family – her forgiveness and tolerance and sagacity. Not that he'd expect anything less from her. He should have known better. He should have known _her_ better. He feels ashamed to have so grossly underestimated her. Ashamed that his lust transformed him into such a spiteful version of himself in full view of the one person in the world whose opinion really matters to him.

She couldn't even look at him – that's the worst part. Olivia not being able to meet his gaze. Instead, she'd turned away, walked away from him. It made him feel like the greatest bastard in the world. Even worse than her no-good husband. It's a feeling he can't let go of, that won't let go of him. Turning onto his side, Elliot gazes blearily at the red light of his digital clock. He's not getting a wink of sleep, he just knows it. Because evidently his conscience believes he needs to do a little more penance before being released from this most recent crime.

 **-x-**

His third of so many terrible crimes has got to be dating Maria while thinking of Olivia.

It's not his intention – it's so far from his intention. But when Maria opens the door to him on their first date, his heart leaps as his stomach sinks. Her hair, which he remembered as blonde and bobbed, is now a warm chestnut brown that just grazes her shoulders. Her lips are a similar shape to Olivia's, her eyes a similar shade. She's shorter but possesses a similar body type. She even smells like Olivia – as he finds out when he leans in to kiss her at the end of the date. They don't sleep together – not that first night, or any of the subsequent three nights they go out. That's part of his plan – the plan of his new, reformed self. Elliot isn't looking for something swift and fun and shallow. He's looking for something to dive into, something deep. He's looking to jump in with both feet. He's looking for a woman who will pull him through, draw him out of the one-sided mire he's been stuck in for so long.

He also feels slightly afraid of what might happen in the dark with this gorgeous Olivia Benson lookalike. As he should be. The first time they sleep together Elliot tries to keep the lights on. But Maria is more comfortable with them off. So all he sees and touches and smells and enters and enjoys is Olivia. Not Maria. He's making love to his partner, not his date. He's with his old friend, not his new lover. Graham's wife. Not his own girlfriend. Once she becomes his girlfriend, once they navigate those first few shy attempts at making love, Elliot insists they keep the lights on. Whether they're at his place or hers, he kisses her and convinces her by telling her that she's beautiful and sexy and that seeing her turns him on. All of which is true. But it also eases his confusion, aids in his escape.

After a while, Maria gets used to having the lights on when they have sex. It's a relief for him, not to have to insist, not to have to worry. Because then he can be with her, see her, make love with her without feeling like he is cheating on her with Olivia. Or like he's cheating on Olivia with Maria. Sometimes that's what it feels like, though he's not sure why. Sometimes he gets so wrapped up in the two of them that he's not sure who he's with or who he is. Or why he feels guilty. But he does. Despite his new plan, his new approach, despite the new and improved version of Elliot Stabler that seems to be steadily taking form, the endemic guilt of the former version remains. Blaming him. Condemning him. Torturing him. And never letting him rest.

 **-x-**

Crime number four is necessary. If he wants to keep his partner, that is. Which he does.

He and Dani are striding through a bustling Brooklyn park, heading to a basketball court to question some truant teens. Being back on the job has recentered him, made him fledgingly believe in his own inherent good. It's also provided some much needed relief from concentrating on the dreaded O-word. But all good things must come to an end.

Dani halts in place, pats his arm and points. "Isn't that Olivia?"

Elliot turns, a denial on his tongue – Olivia isn't due back from her honeymoon for at least another week. He shuts his mouth when his eyes land on his partner, down on one knee, tying the lace of little Sophie who sits on a bench with a grazed and grubby knee. Olivia swabs her knee with a tissue doused in spit. She kisses it better and watches the tears in her daughter's eyes dissolve. Elliot doesn't say anything. He just nudges Dani's side, silently urging her to continue on their path, in pursuit of their case.

For the next few days, he makes calculations in his mind, internally posits all sorts of explanations for Olivia being in New York rather than Europe. And for her not contacting him on her return. In the end, he decides to respect her privacy, to respect her choices and leave it alone. He and Dani see out their time as temporary partners. They go out for a drink after they wrap their last case. Outside the bar, under the streetlights, he says they should do it again sometime.

Dani nods and laughs softly. "Yeah. We'll see." Then she heads home to her husband.

The next morning, he's already at his desk when Olivia arrives. She enters at her usual pace but slows as she places her bag on her desk and lifts her gaze to his. Elliot swallows when their eyes connect. It feels like an aeon and a half and then some. It feels slightly awful, more than a little strained. He rises, forces his lips to simulate a smile.

"Welcome back," he says.

Custom dictates that he should ask how her honeymoon was, hear all the romantic details of where they went and what they did. This is clearly not the course they should take though. So he avoids it. Part of him wants to ask when she returned, why she returned early and why she never contacted him. He wants to ask if Graham returned with her, if she told her husband of his visit, if she and Graham were okay. He also wants to know if she and he are okay. As partners. As friends. Maybe it's a crime that he doesn't have the courage to check, to clear the strained and awful air between them. Maybe it's a crime that he doesn't voice any of his many thoughts. Or maybe it's the opposite. He just doesn't know anymore. If his silence is a crime, it's a necessary one. Because he wants her to stick around. He wants her to stick around so he can make amends. He wants her to witness the upgraded person he's becoming because of her. He wants to be her partner, wants her as his partner. He wants to re-earn her trust and respect.

So Elliot says nothing. He lies. In order to keep her.

Olivia looks like she might speak, like she might broach several hazardous topics as she stands there, coat still on and bag still in hand. But the phone on her desk rings. She picks it up, says her name, nods a few times, asks a few questions. He can tell from her tone that they've caught a case. Elliot rolls down his sleeves, shrugs on his jacket. He watches her until she hangs up the phone, averts his eyes as she stashes her belongings. When she faces him again, eyes once more meeting his over their twin desktops, whatever words she might have uttered seem to have vanished.

"Let's just work," she tells him.

Elliot nods, pleased and relieved. And follows her out the door.

 ** _TBC..._**


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: M, adult stuff

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC etc. Lyrics are property of Damien Rice and are used without permission. No infringement intended or money made.

Spoilers: Nope

Pairings: Elliot/Olivia, Olivia/Other, Elliot/Other.

Summary: Their crimes are numerous, too numerous to count. But nine in particular stand out.

A/N: Welcome back, thank you for waiting, your call is important to us. So...anyone wanna guess what their ninth crime is gonna be?

* * *

 **iii.**

 _Well, I held you like a lover  
Happy hands and your elbow in the appropriate place  
And we ignored our others' happy plans  
For that delicate look upon your face  
Our bodies moved and hardened  
Hurting parts of your garden  
With no room for a pardon  
In a place where no one knows what we have done…_

Their ninth crime is committed two weeks after Olivia returns to work and two days after Elliot introduces her to his girlfriend.

They haven't been the same since Prague. Something's shifted – something isn't working quite as well as it used to. They've been clashing more than usual on cases that normally they'd work with ease. They've been calling Fin and Munch in when they don't need to. They've been taking breaks from each other – disappearing on coffee runs or retiring to the crib or going their separate ways, following diverging leads. One of them will visit the OME while another informs the family. One of them will question a witness while another runs down financials. They're still doing their jobs. But it's not as effortless as it used to be. As comfortable. As intimate. By tacit agreement, they've each taken a large and significant step back from the other – and the impact has been felt by the entire squad.

The rising tension was not helped by Maria making an unexpected appearance in their squadroom. She came to bring Elliot a fresh shirt and some dinner during an anxious all-nighter. She also brought several bags of candy for his colleagues. Munch murmured approvingly as she threw him one and Fin actually cracked a smile when introducing himself. Olivia was not in the squadroom at the time and Elliot prayed that she would stay AWOL until after his girlfriend left. He slung an arm around Maria's shoulders, joined in the perfunctory chit-chat while internally tapping his shoe in impatience. After a decent interval, his arm veered Maria in the direction of the door, giving her a light kiss and telling her he'd see her out. He was just pulling back from the kiss when Olivia chose to return, striding through the squadroom door and nearly colliding with her mirror image. The two women looked each other over, smiled and shook hands. By all outward appearances, it was an amicable introduction. But Elliot knew better.

Olivia's been snapping at him ever since. Even more than she already was. She's been impatient and uncommunicative and distracted. Gone are the wry cracks and furtive half-smiles. Gone are the companionable silences and shared lunches. Gone are the unrequested but not unwelcome cups of hot, sweet coffee in the wee small hours. Something has shifted and it doesn't bode well. Not to Elliot. Not at all. Though it might explain why his senses are primed, why he hears the uncertain shifting outside his door before a knock arrives.

Opening the door to his apartment, he finds his partner standing on the threshold, fist raised to knock. He tells her he's on his way out but she just brushes by him, body knocking his as she stomps inside, muttering about needing to talk. He swings the door shut behind her, trails her into his living room where suddenly Olivia stops, stands still and looks about, her bag dangling from the lax fingertips of one hand.

Elliot flicks one end of his tie over the other, absently asking, "Can this wait?—"

Her head shakes tightly. "Can't wait."

"Well…" he tightens the knot of his tie, glances at his watch, "I'm meeting Maria in twenty minutes."

"Cancel."

He pauses – adjusts his collar then shakes his head. "I'm not cancelling."

"We need to talk."

"About?"

She doesn't reply. She hasn't even made eye contact. She just stands, looking droopy and vague, in the middle of his living space. Elliot steps closer, giving her a discerning once-over. He pulls the bag from her hand and throws it on the couch, making his partner's eyes lift to his.

"About?" he repeats, voice softer but sterner.

"You said," she begins, voice breaking on a barely audible sentence, "you said I should come to you…" She closes her mouth, licks her lips then opens them to go on.

But before she can continue, his phone starts writhing with mini vibrations on the over cluttered coffee table. He grabs it, retrieves the text from Maria then pockets the phone. As he does, Olivia turns her back and wanders aimlessly away. Elliot glances up at her while leaning down, scooping up his keys from beneath some of the clutter.

"I've gotta go. Maria's already there—"

"I had a drink."

There's a beat of silence. Olivia doesn't move. Elliot's gut plummets.

She turns round, takes an unsteady breath then admits, "Actually, I had two drinks— two, two and a half drinks." Her cheeks are red, flushed with shame as her eyes lift to his. "You said I should let you know…if…if—" Her words trail off. She seems to have expended all the honesty in her possession.

So Elliot lunges forward, wraps a gentle hand around her forearm and guides her to the couch. "Here. Sit down. Sit here." He pulls out his phone and heads into the bedroom. "I'll be right back..."

He keeps his voice low as he cancels his date with Maria, apologizing and blaming the job. Maria takes it well, although even if she didn't, he's not sure he'd have enough concern to spare. He ends the call as fast as he can and heads back into the living room. At first, he thinks she's bailed on him, bolted out the door, because she's no longer on the couch where he left her. Scanning the room, Elliot finds her standing by the corner window, gazing out it with absent eyes. He approaches, stands at the window with her in silence.

"What triggered this?" he asks after a moment.

She laughs bitterly, muttering under her breath, "You've gotta be kidding me..."

He steps closer, reaches out. "Liv—"

She reaches out too, shoving his shoulder with one hand. "You—"

He draws back. "I—"

"You," she shoves him again, faces him with fire in her eyes, "you fucking triggered it, you bastard—"

She squares up to him, spine straight and murder in her eyes. And it takes him a moment to know how to respond. It takes him a moment to realize that her fury may not be because of a case they just wrapped or an interview they just conducted. Her alcohol consumption may not actually be due to anything occurring in the present. Whatever this is – it's been coming for weeks, months. Maybe longer, maybe years. Since before her return, before her honeymoon and wedding, before his Praguian invasion. It's about time they finally had it out.

Elliot inhales through his nose then inches closer, chest expanding and chin jutting out. "You wanna take me on?" he murmurs, eyes tapering at her. "Cos I'll take you on…"

Her eyes thin in response and she leans in, hissing in face, "I'll tell you what I—"

"What? What d'you want?" he goads, watching her face flare with ire at his deliberate interruption, "You wanna shove me? Well, come on. You wanna slap me, punch me, take me down? Go ahe—"

The rest of his dare doesn't get the chance to leave his lips. Because a sharp pain slashes his face as her palm makes swift, hard contact with his cheek. The slap is so violent his head turns, his whole body rotates with the impact. It takes him several seconds to believe it actually happened, she actually hit him. He lifts a few fingers to his cheek, probes gingerly at the already rising tenderness. Then he turns back, righting himself and meeting his partner's unrepentant gaze.

"O-kay…" he clears his throat, voice raspy with shock. "Didn't expect that…So—" He drops his hand, quirks both brows at her. "Now what? Want me to turn the other cheek?"

Olivia just stands there, her murderous gaze gradually but not entirely receding. She gulps, looks like she might cry at any minute. Or scream. Or take up his invitation and slap the other cheek. He has no idea what's coming. No clue what is happening with her, between them. So he reaches down, grabs her other hand, her left hand, the one not pink with assault and flops it against his uninjured cheek. He puts it there, slaps it in place then drops his hand, laying himself open to anything she thinks he deserves.

"Go ahead," he tells her, this time getting the full challenge out. "Take another shot."

Olivia gulps again, her chest rising and falling in heavy, shallow breaths. Her fingers lie limply against his cheek for a long, strange moment. Then they curl up in shame, nails scrapping his stubble. Her hand wilts, fingertips skimming down over his jaw. A thumb detours, pressing against his chin, angling his head to one side so she can inspect the redness she caused. Her expression remains unreadable as she examines him. He watches her but he's no surer of her reaction than she seems to be. Finally, she moves again. Every advance achingly slow. She leans up, leans in. And kisses his inflamed cheek. Just like she did in that hotel doorway on the day of her wedding. Just like that – only not like that at all.

Her lips are cool against the heat of his skin. They're deliberate yet doubtful, light but lingering. And when she draws back from that first kiss of apology, neither one of them seems to know if another kiss will follow. Elliot breathes, her fingertips on his chin and her breath on his cheek. His eyes close over as she moves in and kisses him again. Cool lips on his cheekbone – they slide up the inner edge, so light, so tentative, her tongue grazing his skin a microsecond before she withdraws. Then her whole cheek is against him, soft, soothing skin pressed against red flesh and rough stubble but not staying, not stalling, smoothing over him, her hair sweeping his eyelashes as she pulls back enough to find the corner of his mouth with her own. He's not even sure it's a kiss. It's just her mouth, so close to his, alongside his, her breath mingling with his. He angles his head a little her way, so her lips aren't just out of reach. His eyes skate up over her face but it tells him nothing. Her eyes are shut, her face serene, unlined by anxiety or distress. He sees her lips part and he closes his eyes again, waiting for contact.

It's a shock when it comes, electrifyingly good. Elliot instantly craves more of such insane pleasure. So he wraps his arms around her, locking her in place and deepening the kiss. Olivia moans, the sound warming and trembling her parted lips. She delves in with him, resolutely unearthing his buried desire as he goes to work on locating hers. It doesn't take much effort to recover it. She's squirming in his arms within seconds, pressing her body to his and plucking at his lips like she's thirsted after their taste for years. Her hands squirrel inside his jacket, clutching at the material of his shirt, blindly searching for buttons. She undoes two, rips open two more. Then grabs his tie and tugs him toward the couch. Elliot obeys, feet shuffling with hers in the direction of the couch but ensuring that his body never loses any precious contact with hers. His hands curl around her neck, her waist, anchoring her against him, keeping her close. Her calves hit the couch and Elliot immediately begins to descend, kissing her jaw, her neck, her chest.

Olivia's head tilts back as he continues his descent, dropping to his knees in front of her, hands skating down, fondling her breasts on his way her hips. Grabbing her hips, he pulls them towards him and buries his face in the apex of her legs. His eyes close as he breathes her in, kisses her through the fabric, places his whole mouth over her and very gently bites down. Olivia gasps, her hands flying to his head as his slip down her thighs, around them then up to her cup her ass, to press her more firmly against his mouth. When he kisses her again, licks the seam of her pants, her knees buckle and she falls back, hands easing her way to the couch. As she settles, Elliot glances up at her druggy, half-open eyes, at her flushed cheeks and wet lips. His hands are already on her belt, releasing the clasp so he can undo her pants. He tugs them off, under her butt and over her hips and down her legs, taking her underwear and footwear with them. He tosses her clothing aside, runs both palms up her legs, from slim ankle to bent knee to silky, muscular thigh. His eyes follow this progression then move up, connecting with hers before he lowers his lips to her stomach.

Her flesh jumps and bunches beneath the first, tender touch of his mouth. Olivia sighs, whimpering involuntarily and squirming her naked butt against his cushions. Elliot gives her a firmer touch, hands smoothing up and down her thighs as his lips and tongue and breath explore her belly – then make their way lower. He bites the top of the crease between her leg and torso then runs his tongue down its length. Olivia shifts lower on the couch, hips lifting longingly. He can smell her, feel her heat and longs for exactly what she does. But he holds her still with his hands on her legs, moves to treat the other crease on the other side of her body with the same devoted affection. Then Elliot settles back on his heels, tugs her body further down on his couch. He opens her up, looks at her, huffs a warm breath over her clitoris. Olivia's eyes slide closed, her head tossing fitfully and her hands screwing up at her sides. He licks and kisses his way up her thighs, nipping the soft flesh at unpredictable intervals. Then, finally, at long last, it's just him and her. Him and the very essence of her, her most beautiful and vulnerable place and he can't resist her a moment longer.

He parts her lips with two fingers and slips his tongue between them, licking upwards, gathering her arousal on his tongue and swallowing. Olivia whimpers again, knees falling outwards and toes curling against his bent knees. Elliot bows his head, continues his slow, glorious, tasty tease. He snakes his tongue in and over and around her, kisses her clit once then uses his tongue to trace and investigate and prime her opening. Her hands give up their fight and find him, one clawing at his shoulder while the other encircles his head, fingernails scratching through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Elliot takes this cue and eases his tongue inside her. Then out again. Then in again, deeper and slower. Olivia's hands claw and stroke and scratch and tug, her toes curl tighter and her teeth venture out to nibble her lip. Elliot glances up at her but doesn't remove his mouth, doesn't stop pleasuring her with his tongue. When her moans begin to increase, in pitch and duration and frequency, he replaces his tongue with a single finger then two and slides his lips up to her clitoris. Her moans peak and both hands fix him in place. His fingers plunge gently while his tongue alternates between flicking and sucking on the nub of nerves crowning her sex. It's the former she seems to prefer and the former that causes her to come, bucking uncontrollably under his tongue.

He doesn't release her, not for a second. He wants every last drop of her pleasure. And when she thinks she can't take anymore, when she thinks she's all done, Elliot keeps going, intensifying her cries and spasms and discovering a few more drops of unexpected ecstasy. Afterwards, he rests his face on one thigh. He kisses her there, listens to her breath, waits until her hands recover some strength and reach down for him. She draws him up from the floor, onto the couch and over her. Olivia drops to one side, scoots back on the couch, opens her legs to receive him. And Elliot falls on top of her fully clothed. She still wears her bra and shirt and one half of her jacket. His clothes are rumpled and tangled but neither of them has the patience or awareness to remedy this situation. Instead, she simply opens his pants, wraps her legs around him and watches as he guides himself to her entrance. Elliot pushes inside, groans, drops his head into the nook of her neck then pushes the rest of the way in. As soon as he does, so much of what he'd forgotten about being inside her comes flooding back. It's familiar and distant at the same time. But the pleasure and perfection is unparalleled.

He lifts his head, kisses her then begins to move. Olivia wraps her arms around him, locks her feet at the base of his back and whispers in his ear, urging him on with _don't stop_ , _never stop_ , _please please_ , _please keep going_. Every tiny iota of his body gladly and willingly obeys. Their rhythm starts slow but swiftly increases. He kisses her mouth, face, neck, chest. He envelopes her breasts in his mouth, right through the material of her bra and shirt. Olivia arches under him and sucks his ear. It's too much for him. She's too much for him. It's too much stimulation, too much of what he's wanted for such a long time. And much too much pleasure for him to hold off for very long. Luckily, Olivia is close, rising to another peak by virtue of so recently visiting one. He hears her moans surge and knows what it means. He hooks an arm around her thigh, hoists her leg a little higher, grasping her ass with one hand. She gasps at the move, at the new angle, at the increased depth and pleasure. He speeds up slightly, bites her nipple through her clothes and hears her pant a desperately close _yes_.

It only takes few more thrusts and one more kiss which breaks apart as they come. Together. Long and hard. Her mouth pants and sobs against his and when he can no longer hold up his head, his mouth drops to rest against her cheek. He chants her name, pushing into her and pulling back out, once again wringing every last drop of everything they have and feel and want from each other. Her body shudders under him, his trembles on top of her. His hand on her ass relaxes, his other hand smooths some hair back from her face. He kisses her brow, the corner of her mouth then collapses in exhaustion on her chest. Olivia's legs drop, her feet falling, one to the couch cushions and one into the nook behind his knee. Her hands stroke up and down his back, over his head and down the still tender side of his face. She kisses his sweaty forehead, draws in a breath then lets her head drop to one side as they both fall fast asleep.

 **-x-**

 _Well, you held me like a lover  
Sweaty hands and my foot in the appropriate place  
And we used cushions to cover happy glands  
And the mild issue of our disgrace  
Our minds pressed and guarded  
While our flesh disregarded  
The lack of space for the light-hearted  
And the boom that beats our drum…_

The worst part of their crime is that they don't immediately regret it. In fact, they repeat it. Not once, not twice, but three times in one night.

After they wake from their sex-induced doze, Elliot makes them an omelet with tomato and onion and thyme. They eat it on the couch, lounging like lovers not sitting safely apart like long-time partners or best friends. Olivia props her feet in his lap, soles stroking his inner thigh and half-hard erection. When they finish eating, Elliot throws their plates onto the coffee table, lifts one of her legs over his head and dives into the cradle of her thighs. They kiss for over twenty minutes before moving to the bedroom.

Their second bout of love-making allows them to strip each other naked, exploring each other's bodies at a leisurely pace and prolonging their pleasure for as long as possible. Olivia takes the lead, straddling him and lowering herself onto him, rolling her hips for several minutes before rising up and riding him. As before, when they come, they come together.

This second session of sex leaves them moist with sweat and fluids, so after a brief interlude to recuperate, they shower together, careless laughter echoing off the tiles when the skittish soap seeks to evade Elliot's grasp. They spend long minutes under the spray, kissing and fondling and basking. Olivia lowers to her knees, uses her mouth to make him hard again. Then their wet bodies return to the bed and repeat their crime without a single second thought.

They sleep the sleep of the sated, limbs entwined and chests rising and falling in effortless harmony. But they wake once in the night, eyes meeting eyes in the dark. A siren passes by. They kiss. Her leg is lifted. He strokes against her. Enters her. She sighs, nods and smiles. And together they begin to move. Not a word is exchanged. Not a word needs exchanging. Nothing except whispered names on blissful sighs and the most intimate of intimate groans.

When Elliot awakes the next morning, Olivia is gone. A note lies on his coffee table. It simply says that she had to go because she arranged an early meeting with her sponsor. Elliot stares at the unsigned note for several moments, something about its simplicity worrying him. The previous night had been the most incredible of his life. But they never did discuss why Olivia relapsed. Or the date he abandoned at that fancy restaurant. They never discussed anything – not her marriage, her children, their partnership or how any of it might co-exist with the passion they uncovered that night.

Elliot prepares himself for work with a sinking feeling in his gut. He avoids looking at his phone for fear of the messages he might find from Maria. When he finally takes a peek, just as he's heading out the door, what he actually finds is a missed call from his buddy at the FBI. Elliot calls him back immediately, putting the phone to his ear as he jogs down the stone steps of his apartment building.

 _ **TBC...**_


	4. Epilogue

Rating: This one, T

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC et al. Lyrics are property of Damien Rice and are used without permission. No infringement intended or money made.

Spoilers: Nope

Pairings: Elliot/Olivia, Olivia/Other, Elliot/Other.

Summary: Please see chapter one.

A/N: Please read the lyrics. The songs that inspired this story are called "9 Crimes" and "Accidental Babies". They are both from Damien Rice's second album, "9".

* * *

 **epilogue**

 _And I know I make you cry  
And I know sometimes you wanna die  
But do you really feel alive without me?  
If so, be free. If not, leave him for me  
Before one of us has accidental babies  
For we are in love._

 _Do you come together ever with him?_  
 _Is he dark enough, enough to see your light?_  
 _Do you brush your teeth before you kiss?_  
 _Do you miss my smell?_  
 _And is he bold enough to take you on?_  
 _Do you feel like you belong?_  
 _And does he drive you wild? Or just mildly free?_  
 _What about me?_  
 _What about me?..._

Olivia disappears for the rest of the week. When Elliot asks Cragen where she is, his boss just tells him she has personal business to attend to. It causes the feeling in his gut flare into more than just worry, more than just an inkling. He gets the distinct impression he's being avoided – a suspicion confirmed by his partner's consistent ducking of his phone calls. Elliot starts to suspect that he's not just being avoided – he's being regretted, he's being second-guessed. He starts to suspect his partner is taking time away from him to think things over – and that maybe he should do the same. So he accepts his buddy's offer of a visit to Quantico. He decides to brush up on his profiling skills while getting a little much needed perspective on the confusing mess his life has become.

While at Quantico, he speaks with Maria a few times, since – unlike Olivia – she actually returns his calls. He hasn't told her what occurred between him and his partner. He calls her his girlfriend, thinks of her as such. They are still fairly new though and they never really discussed exclusivity. This is probably just another in a long line of excuses he makes to himself. He knows cheating on her was wrong. He's just treading water, waiting to see what will happen with his partner before he risks losing her doppelganger. But Olivia's disappearance, her silence and avoidance, is slowly depleting any tiny hope he might have held for an expansion of their night together. Not that he had much hope to begin with. This realization makes him think that committing to Maria might in fact be the smartest course of action. The least complicated course of action. The least perilous. It happens over the course of a long, isolated week but gradually Elliot reverts to his previous thinking, his previous plan of doing penance and moving on. His penance at Quantico involves plenty of hard time in the gym, plenty of hard yards on Hogan's Alley and more than a few sleepless nights.

Some nights – most nights – he lies awake and thinks of that night with Olivia. Relives every second. He revisits the memory so often that it starts to feel not quite real, a mere product of his longing, his loneliness, his jumbled feelings for his partner. It starts to feel like a dream, like something he fantasized during the wee small hours while languishing on his narrow little cot. Nothing feels as clear, as strong, as perfect as it did that night. So when a week at Quantico turns into a fortnight and a fortnight into a month, he doesn't fight it. He embraces it. He makes regular calls to Maria and quits trying to contact his partner. If Olivia wants to talk to him, she knows his number. She doesn't call. Or text. Or send messages via FBI personnel. And Elliot stops expecting her to.

It's a full month before he returns to SVU, over a month since he's seen Olivia, since he went to sleep with her naked body by his side, in his bed, her breath puffing softly against his shoulder, her hand slack on his chest. On his first day back from self-imposed sabbatical, he barely makes it through the squadroom door before Cragen leans out his office door and beckons him with one finger. Elliot drops the pile of folders he's carrying onto his desk then heads for his captain's office, wondering what he could possibly have done wrong between the elevator and his desk. They're all gathered in there – Cragen, Munch, Fin and Olivia. His body reacts the second he sees her, though he manages to keep his face straight. He thinks. His head does tilt though, his brows crumple. Because there's something…different about her, something's changed. Olivia meets his gaze but takes one step back, hands clasped in front of her stomach. Elliot glances about at his colleagues who seem to have been engaged in some sort of meeting. Either that or they're waiting for one to begin. Fin sits in one of the chairs facing Cragen's desk, Munch lounges against a filing cabinet. Olivia stands in the middle of the room.

Elliot positions himself a decent distance from her then glances at his boss with raised brows. "What's going on?"

Cragen nods to Olivia. "Ask your partner."

All eyes turn on Olivia as she takes a breath and unclasps her hands. "Well, it's still early days but…" she smiles nervously, hesitates more than a moment before saying, "I'm pregnant."

"Again?" Fin grumbles from his seat. "You two need to give it a rest."

Olivia smiles and faces him, turning her back to her partner. Munch steps forward to apologize for his partner and offer their congratulations. He hugs her as Fin rises then squeezes her hand with his. Cragen smiles and kisses her cheek, assuring her they'll all do everything possible to keep her and her new baby safe and to accommodate her during her pregnancy. Olivia nods and says that's why she wanted to tell him sooner rather than later. Then four sets of eyes turn towards Elliot who hasn't offered a word, gesture or smile. He can't help it. He knows he needs to, to maintain some sort of appearance of propriety, of…actual life. But his breath is stuck. He's not sure he's even taking in oxygen. His blood is rushing in his ears but his limbs have turned stone cold. Munch breaks the awkward silence instigated by his complete non-reaction by making a crack about Olivia's honeymoon having done the trick.

Elliot just stands there for the entire conversation, not hearing the quips or congratulations or the playful queries on gender preferences. It's finally, thankfully cut short by the pressures of ringing phones and unfiled forms and fellow detectives carrying gruesome photographs. So while Cragen diverts his attention to another officer and Munch and Fin exit into the busy squadroom, Elliot takes the opportunity to steal his partner through the other exit, out into the slightly quieter hallway. He has no clue what he's going to say to her once he gets her alone but it doesn't actually matter because the second he opens his mouth to speak, Olivia holds up a finger, gulps hard then bolts for the bathroom. He hesitates before following her, hesitates again before pushing through the ladies room door.

She's the only one in there – he can see her feet under the stall walls, her knees on the filthy ground as she wretches into the toilet bowl. Elliot inches closer, unable to turn away or walk away from the morning sickness ritual he's already so familiar with. He knows how this goes and his mind is already skipping ahead to her body growing bigger and her temper growing shorter and her appetite growing stranger. He wants to be there for all of it. He wants to tell her he'll be there for the doctor's appointments and the birthing classes and the early-morning nausea and the late-night food cravings. Assuming her baby is his, that is. There's a chance – a very real and strong chance – that, like her other children, this baby belongs to her husband, the man she so recently married and honeymooned with. Oddly, this alters Elliot's mindset little. His do-penance-and-move-on plan instantly goes out the window. And his gorgeous new lover completely slips his mind. Because all he's wanted since that night four weeks and five days ago is her.

He wants her, wants her to want him like she did that night. He wants to tell her that, whether she's expecting his child, her husband's or John Munch's – he doesn't care. He wants to be the father of her children. He wants to demand that she consider him, that she listen to him, that give him a shot. He wants to remind her that what they have is both awful and sublime and it deserves a chance at forever. He wants to remind her of that night so many years ago when she fell apart in his arms, when she shattered their professional facade with two gloriously honest words of lust and longing. He wants to remind her of their more recent night together, of how they drove each other wild and gave each other everything and that, when they came, it was together. And it was incredible. He wants to ask if it's ever been like that between her and Graham, if it's ever even vaguely compared. He wants to beg her to leave her idiotic, cheating husband and be with him. He wants…God, he wants a lot of things. Everything, from her. Essentially, he wants her to throw away her entire life. For him. Something he knows – has always known – is close to impossible.

Olivia finishes throwing up, flushes the toilet then wipes her mouth with tissue. Sliding weakly up onto the closed lid of the toilet, she doubles over, holds her stomach and breathes deeply. She stays like that for a long moment then sits gingerly upright, her hair tousled and eyes moist as they meet his. There are a hundred and one questions racing through his mind, half a dozen he desperately wants answered. But the one obvious and burning question that hovers between them – he just can't voice. He can't open his mouth and ask her. All he can ask is…what happens now. Olivia looks up at him from her seat on the toilet. She tucks some hair behind her ear, shakes her head without replying. So, standing at the door of the stall, Elliot blinks and asks again – because he really, really, _really_ wants to know:

"What…What happens now?"

 ** _END._**

* * *

 ** _A/N: And you thought that first cliffhanger was mean. Okay, you know the deal: this saga will be continued in a third installment, the creation of which you can speed up by putting some words in the box below. Thank you very much to the few stalwart readers who have stuck with this story. I know it's an unusual one, what with the AUness and all the prosey feelings to wade through. But your long, enthusiastic comments showing how involved you are in this tale are wonderful to receive and truly motivating. I hope that the final installment gives you the pay-off you have all been reading and waiting for. Until then... M :)_**


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